The Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.
The excessively bright lobby was like a giant mirror, magnifying the anxiety on everyone's faces tenfold. Before the applause even started, the air was already thick with expectation and rivalry, as if you could count every single breath.
Along both sides of the red carpet, the flashbulbs were going crazy, blinding people with their continuous click-click-click frenzy.
"Link ! Look this way!"
"Quentin! Give us a smile!"
The reporters' shouts were a chaotic din.
Bender walked with his chest puffed out in his sharp suit, struggling to keep the fake smile plastered on his face. Quentin, wearing sunglasses, looked utterly confident and cocky, giving a thumbs-up to the cameras.
Link walked in the rear. He wasn't looking at the cameras; his eyes were fixed on the enormous, gilded, fake Oscar statuette at the theater entrance.
Just then, a commotion rippled through the crowd.
Harvey Weinstein had arrived.
He wasn't flanked by a huge entourage of assistants tonight. He was alone, dressed in a proper tuxedo, a gentle smile on his face, looking like a retired college professor.
He moved through the crowd and walked straight up to Link, extending his hand.
"Link , my friend," his voice was soft, but all the surrounding reporters went silent. "Good luck tonight."
Link looked at him, extended his hand, and shook it.
"You too, Harvey."
Harvey smiled slightly, then turned and walked into the theater.
Bender leaned over and whispered, "Goddammit, he's a snake in the grass."
Link didn't say anything. He just withdrew his hand and slowly, deliberately, wiped it with a handkerchief from his pocket.
Inside the theater, the lights dimmed.
The awards ceremony began.
Time ticked by, minute by minute.
Best Supporting Actor… wasn't Samuel.
Best Supporting Actress… wasn't Uma.
Quentin had taken off his sunglasses at some point. Bender's face, which had been frozen in a smile, slowly began to sag.
Link leaned against the back of his chair, watching the stage without expression.
Finally, it was time for Best Original Screenplay.
The presenter walked up. He tore open the envelope, glanced at the contents, and smiled.
"Well, this is interesting."
"And the winner is… Link, Quentin Tarantino, Pulp Fiction!"
Boom!
Quentin froze in his seat for a full three seconds before jumping up like a spring, hugging and shouting with Samuel next to him.
Bender was so excited he was nearly in tears, shaking Link's arm vigorously. "We got it! Link ! We got it!"
Link also stood up. He took a deep breath, adjusted his tie, and walked onto the stage with Quentin.
The spotlight felt hot on his face.
Quentin snatched the Oscar statuette and took a deep breath into the microphone.
"I… sh\\!"
The entire audience burst into laughter.
He thanked a list of people, then forcefully handed the trophy to Link.
Link walked to the microphone, and the room instantly quieted.
"Thank you, the Academy," he paused. "Thank you, Quentin. And thank you to everyone at Pangu."
After that, he gave a slight bow to the audience.
Winning the screenplay award finally brought some life back to the atmosphere. Bender started fidgeting again, anxiously rubbing his hands and staring intently at the stage.
Best Director.
Quentin was among the nominees.
The presenter was Barbra Streisand. She opened the envelope and smiled as she read the name.
"Jonathan Demme, The Silence of the Lambs."
The smile on Quentin's face was instantly frozen, as if someone had hit the pause button on a remote control.
Bender stopped breathing.
The faint smile on Link's face slowly disappeared.
He watched Jonathan Demme excitedly embrace Anthony Hopkins on stage, listening as he thanked the production company and the crew.
The stone in his heart began to sink.
Finally, the last award arrived.
Best Picture.
The host, puffing on a cigar, slowly walked onto the stage. He tore open the envelope and squinted at it for a long moment.
The entire theater was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.
Bender's hand was gripping the armrest so tightly his knuckles were white. Quentin kept his head down, staring at the tips of his shoes.
Link looked at the stage. He suddenly remembered that old man Sheldon's line:
"It makes me feel more comfortable…"
The host gave his devilish grin.
"And the winner this year is…"
He drew out the pause.
"The Silence of the Lambs!"
Boom!
The applause was deafening. People around them stood up, cheering for the winners. Only the Pangu table remained, like a forgotten island.
Bender was completely stunned, mouth open, unable to utter a single word. Quentin buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking slightly.
The camera boom slowly swept over the audience.
The lens paused on Harvey Weinstein's complex face for a full five seconds. It showed a mix of disappointment that his own film had lost, and relief that Link had lost too. Finally, the expression twisted into a smirk.
Then, the camera swept back to Link.
He didn't move. His back was straight, and his face showed neither disappointment nor anger.
He just sat there quietly, watching the golden celebration on the stage that wasn't for him.
Then, he smiled.
The smile was light and subtle, carrying a hint of mockery that outsiders couldn't understand. He raised the glass of untouched champagne, giving a silent toast in the direction of the stage.
Then, he gently placed the glass back on the table.
He hadn't taken a single sip.